


The Boy Next Door

by hailthetrashlord



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3281147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailthetrashlord/pseuds/hailthetrashlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd moved in next door when Clarke was only eight, and now at eighteen she considered Ms. Blake like a second mother, and Octavia like the sister she never had. There was also Bellamy, the pest she'd never wanted. Or at least he had been until everything started to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I see this being a really nice string of almost-one shots that come together in a nice slow burn that will probably inevitably end in smut. But who knows, this story will take me where it takes me, xo. Enjoy- Des

**October 20, 3:00PM**

Clarke walks up the steps to the Blake home and knocks rhythmically three times-- a sign so that they knew it was her-- before entering. She sees that it was pointless, because the house seems to be empty-- Mrs. Blake must be at the shop still, and Bellamy probably picked up a double shift to help his mom out. She toes her shoes off with a sigh by the door and drops her bag down beside them, padding into the kitchen to get a glass of water as she waits for Octavia to get home. 

Why the girl insists on taking the bus home when Clarke can _drive_ her, she'll never understand. It isn't like Clarke hasn't been coming here nearly every day after school since the fourth grade, so she doesn't understand why Octavia refused to ride home with her. Or at least she pretends not to know that it's because Jasper rides the same bus home every day, and Octavia had been crushing on him since Freshman year. Everyday she came home with a little grin as she told Clarke about what songs they'd listened to and what they'd talked about, and every day Clarke would ask why she hadn't just asked him out already only to be met with the same frown each time. 

"Part of the fun is in being chased," Octavia would say, tapping her index finger against Clarke's nose as though she was the eighteen year old, and Clarke was sixteen. "You've got to make them work for it, otherwise where's the fun?"

Maybe Clarke should have taken those lessons more seriously, because then maybe she wouldn't be stuck in her current predicament. She sighs again, leaning her elbows against the marble countertop and rubbing her temples as she thinks about the cause of all her problems; Finn Collins.

He'd been everything she'd wanted in a boyfriend-- kind, insightful, driven-- yet somehow everything had gone so horribly wrong. Horribly wrong being that she'd caught him in an empty stairwell with a hand up his ex-girlfriend's shirt and his tongue down her throat. She'd made a noise to alert them to her presence, and when Finn saw it was her he'd let go of Raven as though she was on fire. Clarke blinked a few times, her mouth opened as though to speak but nothing came out. Instead, she'd turned on her heel and walked away, ignoring the sound of Finn calling her name. She wasn't sure that she'd be able to outrun him for long, but thankfully the bell had rang and the students streamed out into the hallways. 

She'd been so shocked, yet somehow she hadn't felt upset. He was everything she wanted and yet somehow everything had felt so... Forced. Especially the past few months, with college application deadlines creeping closer. They hardly ever spent time together anymore, and when they did it was usually just in the back of her car for a quickie. She'd talked about it with Octavia a few times, and Octavia had given her the _duh_ look and told her to drop him like yesterday's news; but that wasn't the type of person that Clarke was, she was too soft-hearted. So she'd stayed with him and today when she'd seen him on that stairwell, she was so startled she hadn't even known what to say.

But the reason she'd been so surprised was that she had been expecting him to break up with her, at that the point in their relationship that they were in it was honestly inevitable. She hadn't wanted to be the one to do it, because she knew how dramatic breakups always were, and the last thing she wanted was a bad breakup on top of college applications and her AP classes. So she'd waited, knowing that at some point he'd have to break up with her. Only, she found out that maybe Finn wasn't all that she thought he was, because the Finn she knew would have been decent enough to have broken up with her first. It absolutely baffled her that he could do that to someone he cared about.

Clarke huffs loudly, thumping the heel of her palm against her forehead as though it'll give her a clue as to what she's supposed to do now. She'd had to shut off her phone to stop getting all the notifications from Finn, and she knew she couldn't avoid him forever but what was she supposed to say? _Hey it's fine that you moved on, because I've been waiting for it, I'd just hoped that you would be a decent human being and break up with me first to save me the dramatics._ He'd think she was demented.

"Damn, you look like someone pissed in your Cheerios this morning," a deep voice behind her says, and she rolls her eyes. She turns around to face him, trying to ignore the smug little grin he wears as she crosses her arms defensively over her chest. 

"And it looks like they just came back to shit in them," she says in a sugary sweet voice, batting her eyelashes at him. "How are you today, Bellamy?" 

He laughs lowly as he walks past her into the kitchen, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk carton. "Who cares about me when you're clearly suffering." He brings the hand that isn't holding the milk up to his chest and looks at her in mock sincerity. "I'm dying to help you, Clarke. Please, tell me what's troubling your life." He lifts the carton to his lips and takes a big gulp and Clarke can feel her face scrunch up in disgust. 

"Okay, firstly it's none of your business. Secondly, you're disgusting; I eat cereal with that!" He winks at her, before his face turns to shock.

"You realize what that means, right? We've practically made out." He immediately breaks out into laughter, which only grows when she reaches for a nearby apple and throws it at his head. He catches it-- _the cocky, little idiot_ \-- and looks even more smug than before as he takes a bite and walks over to the counter, kicking the fridge closed behind him. "No, seriously," he says around a mouthful of apple, earning him another disgusted look. "What's up? I heard you sighing all the way from my room. I thought we were getting robbed by a crabby burglar."

She gives him her famous _shut the hell up, Bellamy_ glare, which he ignores entirely as he waits for her to explain. She rolls her shoulders in a shrug and drops her eyes to the countertop between them. "Long story short, my boyfrien- er, well ex-boyfriend now, did something really shitty to me." She is met with silence and looks up at Bellamy in confusion only to find that he looks absolutely enraged. His whole body has tensed, and his eyes bore holes into hers.

"Did he-" he curses once and runs a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched tightly together. "Did he do something to you? Like, physically?" He adds the last part at her confused glance, and then she realizes what he means. 

"Jesus, no thank god. Nothing like that," she reassures him quickly, and his body seems to untense one muscle at a time. He nods at her, and suddenly the silence between them feels uncomfortable in the aftermath of his anger. She'd never seen him so worked up over her well-being before; it was oddly... flattering.

"Well then, I don't get why you're letting it bother you. If he did something shitty, he's not worth your time. Sitting here brooding in my kitchen is only wasting your energy." She slumps her shoulders as he speaks, knowing that he's right. It wasn't like she hadn't known their breakup was coming, because she did. At this point, she shouldn't be so bothered by how the breakup actually happened. It was strange advice coming from Bellamy, who was famous for _'I don't know, Princess. Ask someone who cares.'_ She looks up at him and gives him a small smile, which he returns after a moment's pause and she's startled to realize that they're almost being friendly at the moment. He seems to realize the same thing, because he clears his throat and looks away, his cheeks slightly pink underneath his tan. 

_It isn't fair_ , she mournfully thinks to herself as she lets herself admire his features for the first time. It seems like he always has new material to mock her for-- her retainer, her acne, her shower singing-- but she never has anything new to retaliate with, just jokes that she and Octavia had come up with as kids. His skin is practically flawless and his voice had stopped cracking years ago, now deep and gravely like a man's rather than a boys. He's actually not bad looking when he doesn't speak. Her eyes give him a once over before returning to his face only to realize that he's watching her with a cocky smirk.

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt you checking me out," he says smugly, holding his arms out by his sides. "Please, feel free to continue."

"You're such a jerk," she mumbles, feeling her own face heat in mortification at being caught. Of course, she probably looks like some tomato half-breed rather than slightly flushed like he did. 

"Apparently, a jerk you like the looks of," he jokes with a wiggle of his eyebrows, but there's an undertone to his voice that makes her heart speed up with its implication. It's almost as though he wants her to be serious, but it's crazy and there's no way that could be it; surely she's just imagining it like she's imagining that he's suddenly invading her space.

"N-No, I was just, uh-" He's definitely in her space, now. She can feel his breath on her face, and she has to tilt her head to look up at him. 

"You were just..." he prods, his voice barely above a whisper now. She finds herself glancing at his lips, and she watches a muscle in his jaw tick. "Clarke-"

"Honey, I'm home!" Octavia shouts from the other room, her voice echoing throughout the kitchen. Clarke and Bellamy guiltily spring apart, and she takes a deep breath of Bellamy-less air, feeling her pulse start to slow. Octavia steps into the kitchen and looks at the two of them with her hands on her hips. "What, no greeting? I see how it is." 

"The woeful life of Octavia Blake," Bellamy replies snarkily, and Octavia sticks her tongue out at him.

"Har-har-har. You're hilarious, Bell. Don't you have a car to fix, or something?" she replies, but her tone is affectionate. He tosses his apple in the trash can as he walks towards the door, ruffling Octavia's hair-- much to her annoyance-- as he passes. He turns his head at the last second, winking at Clarke as he passes and she feels her mouth open in shock, but he's gone before she can process it.

"So what was he bugging you about?" Octavia asks, forcing Clarke to drag her eyes away from the door Bellamy had vacated. She shakes her head once to clear it before explaining the situation with Finn-- from catching him with Raven, her lack of care, and her confusion on what to do now.

"Well, sounds easy to me; don't worry about it." Octavia shrugs, before mumbling about iced cream and turning to scope through the freezer. It's almost exactly the same thing her brother had said earlier, followed by... whatever that moment had been. For a second, she'd almost been certain she'd seen his eyes drop to her mouth but there was no way it was possible. He's her best friend's older brother, and she's the girl he calls Snores because of the way her retainer makes her snore loudly throughout the night. There's no way he'd ever think about her lips, or look at them for that matter-- it wasn't like she wanted him to, anyway.

_Then why do you feel disappointed?_


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So originally I'd hoped to have this out to you guys within a week, but life gets hectic and here we are almost two weeks later. I'm still working un-beta'd, so it takes me a bit longer to go through and make sure I didn't make any mistakes. It's currently 1 AM, I'm a deranged mess, and with that being said I hope you all enjoy it.

**October 22, 2:00AM**

Clarke shoots up in bed as the sound of shattering glass startles her awake. She feels the rough beat of her heart in her throat as she looks around the room to get her bearings-- the clock reads two o’clock AM and she realizes that the shattering sound she heard came from the window, if the gaping hole in it is anything to go by. She sits up, lowering her feet cautiously to the floor, careful not to step on the glass that now litters her carpet along with a rock that most likely caused the breakage. She steps carefully over to the bay window, and looks at the hole, only to see that the person who caused the breakage is still there, looking sheepish.

“Finn!” she shouts, before realizing the time and knowing that her mom would absolutely freak out if she knew that there was a boy outside their house at two in the morning. She pushes the window open, and leans out to look at him. “What are you doing here?” She lowers her voice considerably, hoping not to wake any of the dogs in her neighborhood; Ms. Indra’s pitbull has the loudest bark that Clarke has ever heard, and if he gets going then the whole neighborhood will be up.

“You haven’t been answering my texts.” he stares up at her accusingly, the light from the street lamps illuminating his face enough for Clarke to see his frustration. She feels her own frustration level rise as she runs a hand through her hair agitatedly. 

“So that was encouragement to come break my window when normal people sleep?” He shuffles his weight from one foot to the other, at least having the decency to look embarrassed about his actions.

“It was an accident, I figured… I don’t know I figured it would be romantic to come here and talk to you.” Clarke remembers a time when her heart would have flipped to hear Finn tell her he wanted to do something romantic for her; a time when she would have blushed and given him a stupid grin as his words melted her. Now, all she feels is… Sad-- because she had been a coward and strung Finn along rather than face her problem like she should have. 

“Look, Finn. You don’t have to do this, I’m alright, and you’ve clearly moved on. No need for romancing.” She tries not to wince as her words seem to only encourage him further, his posture transforming from bashful to excited in seconds.

“No, that’s the thing-- I do!” she tries to cut him off but he silences her with a hand, his voice increasing in volume. “Seriously, for the past few months things have been tense between us; you know it, and I know it. That wasn’t- that _isn’t_ an excuse for what I did, though. I love you, Clarke. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy. I want to make us work; don’t you?”

She looks at him, his face vulnerable and open, and tries to let herself imagine the possibility; if they got back together, and things were the way they were back when they first started dating, would she be happy? She feels a tug in her chest, an unwillingness to let go of him-- her first love, her first time, and the first boy to show her that what she thought she wanted wasn’t what she needed. It’s with that thought that she realizes that she hasn’t been avoiding this moment to save herself the drama; she’s been avoiding it to save Finn’s heart, because she knows that she’s about to break it. 

“No, Finn… I don’t.” She watches the words hit home-- can almost see the moment the hope dies in his eyes-- and feels her own heart ache in return. She never wanted to hurt him, but keeping him would only cause him more pain in the end. He stands there for a moment, his eyes fixated on nothing, before he looks up at her and shakes his head.

“I don’t believe it.” His voice is elevated with anger, and she holds her hands out in a placating way, sighing sadly.

“Finn-”

“No, Clarke!” he shouts, ignoring Clarke as she tries to shush him to no avail. “I don’t believe it. I love you, okay? _I love you_ , and I know you love me too; I’ll prove it to you. I’ll-” There’s a sudden bang, and Clarke’s eyes fly to the window that’s directly across from her’s as Bellamy’s head sticks out the window. He glances sleepily at the scene before him; Finn staring up at her, and her face probably conveying distress. His arms rest on the windowsill as he leans further out his own window to throw a menacing look at Finn. “You bothering her?” he asks, his voice rough with sleep and something she can’t identify, and she sees Finn’s body tense.

“This conversation doesn’t concern you, alright?” Finn’s tone drips annoyance, and Clarke feels nervousness coil in her gut; she’s learned a great many things about Bellamy since she was eight years old, and one of them is that he is _never_ pleasant when he first wakes up. 

“I don’t know if you know this, but it’s two o’clock in the morning, and some of us have big kid jobs to do when the sun comes up.” She can practically feel the indignation rolling off of Finn in waves as Bellamy belittles him, but luckily he waits silently for him to continue. “So you’re going to ask Clarke to continue the conversation at a _reasonable fucking hour_ , and then you’re going to leave, understand?” Finn stands there for a moment, and she can almost hear the _or what_ resting on the tip of his tongue-- and she knows it’ll end badly-- but luckily he simply nods before turning to look at her, a question in his eyes. She knows that it’d be good for him in order to receive closure if they talk, but she also knows that he’s never going to accept the fact that it’s over; so she shakes her head at him, and his face contorts into a look of pained anger as he lets out a huff, before shaking his own head in return and stalking towards her driveway. 

She leans against the windowsill and closes her eyes, wishing she hadn’t put it off for so long, because now she’s created such a mess for both of them. She loses herself in thought for a moment, forgetting that Bellamy is still there, when his quiet voice startles her.

“You alright, Princess?” he inquires, his eyebrows drawn together in worry. She’s confused by his concern for a moment, before she remembers their conversation on Friday, the way he’d been so angry when he’d thought that Finn had hurt her. She nods at him reassuringly, but her shoulders slump despite her words as she buries her head in her hands with a groan.

“God, what do I do now?” she says, loud enough for him to hear, but not really expecting a reply-- if she can’t figure it out, how on earth could he? 

“Now, you take a deep breath, try to go to sleep, and when you wake up you take it one step at a time.” His voice is soothing, and for a second she realizes why Octavia tells her brother everything, and wonders why she’s never realized how caring he can be; firstly on Friday, and now today when he obviously should be sleeping before work. “Worrying about it will only make it harder on yourself. You made your choice; now you have to learn to be okay with it.” She takes the breath, holding it for a moment before letting it out as she nods. It’s not the coddling advice that she would receive from Monty, or the _I told you so_ that Octavia would surely be giving her come morning, but somehow it is everything that she needs-- someone to tell it like it is, and it’s the second time this weekend alone that he’s offered her genuine advice and she can’t help but wonder where this Bellamy has been for the past ten years. 

“Thank you,” she calls out quietly, feeling exhaustion settle over her like a blanket. Her eyes feel as though they’re coated in grit, and she has to repress a yawn. One side of his mouth turns up and she notices how boyish it makes him look; as though he’s fifteen again instead of almost twenty three. 

“Get some sleep, Clarke,” he replies, before he slips into the darkness of his room and closes the window. She stares at it for a moment longer, before she closes her window too, _tsk_ -ing as she remembers the hole in her window. She realizes that it’ll have to wait until morning, and makes quick work of cleaning the glass on the floor as well as possible without a vacuum. 

She slips into bed and lets her mind drift, an array of images assaulting her mind: Finn’s tortured expression, her broken window, Bellamy’s murderous expression as he stared at Finn, and the boyish smirk that made her want to smile back at him. _Take it one step at a time…_

She dreams that she is walking through a house that is not her own, each room getting larger and larger until she is surrounded by white walls that she can never touch.

**October 22, 6:30AM**

Clarke walks onto her porch to leave for school, only to find a small brown paper bag sitting on her front steps. She bends over and reaches inside; finding a bag of her favorite candy-- sour gummy worms-- and a note written in chicken scratch that reads:

_I’ll swing by after work to help fix your window._

She eats the candy as she drives to school, wondering if Bellamy has started becoming nicer, or if she has just never bothered to notice that he was always this thoughtful.

**October 27, 4:30PM**

“I just don’t understand why he hasn’t asked me out on a date already, I mean honestly is there something wrong with me, or something? Do I have two heads?” 

Clarke stops stabbing the orange monstrosity in front of her to scowl at Octavia with pursed lips, huffing through her nose at the question-- because, of course Octavia doesn’t have two heads, and she knows that just as well as Clarke does. “You know just as well as I do that Jasper’s shy when it comes to girls. Be patient with him,” she implores, shoving her knife back into the soon-to-be jack o’lantern that looks less like a carved pumpkin and more like a mess with each carve attempt. _Stitching up a cut? No problem. Want a cute pumpkin to decorate your house? Ask an eight year old first, because clearly I can’t handle it._ The thought frustrates her because she’s helped her mom perform surgeries. She should be able to carve a pumpkin for God’s sake.

“Clarke, I’ve given him _years_ , I mean does he think I’ll stay single forever? Because you know as well as I do that there are plenty of guys who I can choose instead,” Clarke shakes her head disapprovingly, but it’s true-- Octavia is one of those girls who is naturally gorgeous with a slim figure and big eyes that draw guys in. Clarke has always wished since they were younger that she could look like that too; her hips have always felt a little too full, and her hair a little too messy to be considered truly beautiful, but she’s always viewed herself as pretty. “Ugh, seriously I’m so tired of waiting for him to stop being a moron. Which is why I’ve decided that we’re hitting Monroe’s Halloween party tomorrow night-- and _don’t_ even think about bailing out, you’re coming,” she sternly adds at Clarke’s pained look of distress. 

Clarke has never been a party girl; that’s always been Octavia’s job. Even though she’s two years younger, it’s always been Clarke who had to escort Octavia home; unsurprisingly by this point, a party isn’t exactly her idea of a fun time, especially after the week she’s had dealing with Finn.

He’d been shooting daggers with his eyes at any opportunity he had: in the cafeteria, in the hallways, and especially in the Calculus class they shared. What made the whole thing worse was that as soon as they made eye contact, his anger seemed to melt into sadness, and then he’d avoid looking at her entirely, as though she had cheated on him and not the other way around. She knew that part of it was his fault, but part of it was also her’s for letting the relationship go on for as long as it had. In the end, she deserved all of the looks he had sent her for the past five days, and he deserved the silence she had given him in return. 

“O… I don’t know. What if Finn’s there?” She can almost hear the so what that’s undoubtedly coming, so she hastily adds, “Would _your_ ex-boyfriend have liked to see you partying it up a week after breaking up?” Whatever Octavia had been planning to say clearly dies and her mood sowers as Clarke brings up Atom-- her boyfriend of three months who had confessed his love for her and gotten a kick to the door.

“Okay, for one that’s entirely different,” Octavia says, holding her pumpkin-covered knife out to point at her. “And you know as well as I do that Atom was weird and clingy and he had to go. I’m a free spirit, and he couldn’t respect that.” She shrugs lightly at the last part, and Clarke can’t help but laugh-- Octavia has never been one to be tied down for too long, and it’s why her crush on Jasper for the past two years has mystified Clarke. 

“Yeah, sure it is,” she replies, before sighing. “I just… I’m not sure that it’s a good idea. I don’t want to stir the pot when it’s already so close to boiling over.” “What about _you_ , Clarke?” Octavia purses her lips in frustration. “You’re always so busy trying to make everyone else happy. Don’t you want to have some fun?” It’s true, and Clarke’s shoulders slump forward in acknowledgment-- she does have the habit of trying to look out for everyone but herself. 

“Fine. I’ll go, _but_ ,” she adds at Octavia’s immediate excitement. “I’m only going because I know you’re going to end up trying to leave with some creep, and someone’s got to watch out for you.” Octavia makes a noise of irritation, mumbling _spoilsport_ under her breath as she goes back to carving her pumpkin, and Clarke smiles affectionately at her. Sometimes they drove each other crazy, but Octavia is the closest thing to a sister that Clarke has ever had, and she loves her to death. 

She goes back to trying to fix her own pumpkin, yet every time she tries to make the eyes triangular they end up looking like deformed ovals; then she tries making them bigger and each time it just gets more and more pitiful. _If only dad were here to help_ , she feels one side of her mouth turn up ruefully at the thought. She always got nostalgic around the holidays, her head swimming with memories of him and the fun they’d always had together. He was the reason she never missed a school football game-- he’d gotten her into the sport when she was young and she’d grown up next to him on the couch, yelling at the television almost as loud as her dad would. Every Halloween, he would cut the top off of the pumpkin and they’d scoop out the insides and pretend they were brains, and then each year he’d ask what face she wanted it to have that year. Every year, she always said the same thing; _make it a happy face_. Mostly it was because she was seven, and scary looking pumpkins sitting on her front porch wasn’t her idea of fun.

She sighs to herself, feeling the back of her eyes burn as a lump settles into her throat. It isn’t fair, really. There are some people who lie, steal, and murder-- yet they live, but her dad was a good man and somehow the car accident that seemed so minor had ended his life. He’d gotten a severe concussion and been in a comatose state for almost twenty four hours when his brain hemorrhage and he was gone. Most of the event she remembers from what her mother tells her, which isn’t much. She remembers white tiles of the ICU waiting room, and uncomfortable chairs that her mother told her to _sit in and to stop squirming around and sit still_. She remembers doctors in white coats coming in occasionally to talk to her mom and then the last doctor holding her mother up as he told her that her husband was gone. Sometimes, she wonders if that’s why she has always wanted to become a doctor; she wants to save every life she can to make up for the one she was too young to stop. The one that matters most.

“Hey… You alright?” Octavia asks from across the counter, her eyebrows knit together in concern, most likely from the tears that Clarke can feel in the corners of her eyes. She blinks rapidly to clear them and nods.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replies hoarsely, and Octavia studies her for another moment before she, too, nods and goes back to her pumpkin. It’s one of the things that Clarke loves about her, she knows that sometimes it’s best to not push it. It’s one thing that’s made their friendship so easy, even though Octavia was only six when she first moved in next door. 

“Okay, so the party is obviously a costume party, and before you can even _think_ about it, Clarke-- if you go as Nancy Dickey again, I will tell everyone the lakehouse story when you were ten.”

“First of all, there’s no need to blackmail me, and secondly Nancy Dickey was the first female director of the American Medical Association,” Clarke folds her arms over her chest and arches an eyebrow at her friend challengingly. “Besides, do you want me to go or not?” 

“Ugh fine, you’re no fun,” Octavia concedes with a roll of her eyes, before mumbling what sounded like _it looks like I’ll have to return the bunny outfit_ , but at Clarke’s sputter of outrage she grins and changes the topic quickly. “You think there’ll be any hot college guys there?”

Clarke’s face scrunches up and she _tsks_ and shoots Octavia her most disapproving look. “O, you’re sixteen for God’s sake. The last thing you need is a college boy.” Octavia frowns and sticks her tongue out at Clarke like a child, and Clarke lets out a laugh at the gesture and sticks her own tongue out in return and the two of them laugh at each other happily.

It’s moments like this that make the holidays less empty feeling.

**October 28, 12:45AM**

Clarke wakes up to the sound of a door closing, and wants to tell her mom that she’ll do it later, but as a hand shakes her shoulder and a deep voice speaks to her, she realizes that she’s in fact not at home at all.

“Princess, it’s time to go to bed,” Bellamy says, and she opens her eyes to squint up at him in the light from the television. She and Octavia had put on a horror movie to watch and the both of them must have fallen asleep before the ending, because now the title screen kept repeating, the little play button blinking occasionally. She rubs at her eyes with the palms of her hands for a moment before stifling a yawn. “You sleeping here?” he asks, and Clarke nods her head, she doesn’t want to risk waking her mother and getting lectured over coming in so late-- it’ll be easier to crash for the night there, and then deal with the lecture in the morning when she wasn’t glaze-eyed with sleep. Bellamy acknowledges her answer with a nod of his own head and moves to the other side of the couch to where a sleeping Octavia lays curled up in a ball. 

He reaches under her back and hooks the other arm around her knees, hauling her up into his arms as though she’s a child and Clarke feels her mouth curl up around the edges in a sleepy smile at the sight. He mumbles something about taking her up to her room, and Clarke tells him she’ll be up in a minute. He heads up the stairs, and she goes about cleaning up the mess she and Octavia made-- picking up cups and trash as well as turning the television off. 

She moves into the kitchen and is setting the glasses in the sink when she hears Bellamy walk in, his boots scuffing loudly against the floor. She turns and glares at his feet, hoping he’ll stop but all he does is chuckle quietly under his breath and continues until he’s seated in the same chair she’d used earlier to carve the pumpkins. He lets out a noise of pain as he sinks down, rolling his shoulders a few times before rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Rough night?” she asks, already knowing the answer. It was always a rough night for Bellamy, working two jobs to try and help keep his mom afloat. She’d been diagnosed with her illness almost four years ago, and it’s hard enough for her to get out of bed some mornings, let alone get to work; plus once the medication and medical expenses are added in, there’s no way she’d still be afloat if it weren’t for Bellamy. Sometimes Clarke felt pity for him, because he’s twenty two and still living at home to take care of his mom and sister. Sometimes she feels so suffocated by the pressure that her mom puts on her that she can almost taste freedom now that she’s in her last year of high school, and she can’t imagine what it must be like to carry all that and the health of your mother. 

“Just the usual, and then I let Miller talk me into grabbing a beer with him after work.” She can practically hear the exhaustion in his voice, and she makes her way over to the fridge, pulling out the milk jug and turning to look at him in question. He nods once, and she kicks the door closed behind her as she grabs two cups from the cupboard and pours them both a glass. As she’s putting back the milk, she hears a strangled gasping sound behind her, and she quickly stands to see over the door. 

“What is _that_?” Bellamy asks, his voice choked with repressed laughter as he assesses her pumpkin. She purses her lips irritably and walks over, placing the cups between them. “It’s a pumpkin, obviously. Haven’t you seen one before?”

“Not one that looks so sad. It looks like you hacked at it with a chainsaw.” He continued to laugh and she stared at him, trying to see if it’s possible to burn a hole through someone’s head if you glare at them angrily enough. Finally his laughter subsides, and he picks up his glass to take a sip. “Thanks, Princess I needed that,” he says after a moment, a hint of mirth still in his tone. 

She holds the glare for another moment before genius strikes her and her face shifts into sweet innocence as she smiles at him. “Oh you’re welcome. And I didn’t even tell you the best part; we named him Bellamy because of his likeness to you.” He tosses her a _hilarious, Clarke_ look before going back to his milk, his lips quivering each time that he looks at the pumpkin. She looks at it with him, the silence stretching between them comfortably for a few beats.

“It really does look like I slaughtered it,” she breaks into the silence, and they look at each other for a moment. Then they’re laughing, both of them bent over in hysterics-- maybe from the pumpkin or they’re finally losing it from the shitty week they’ve had. Whichever it may be, there’s something about the way her laugh blends in with Bellamy’s and echoes back off the walls as one sound that makes her feel better than she has all week.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Ally, for being the only reason I decided to publish this.


End file.
